Warmaster
by Changer of Ways
Summary: The story of Archfiend Abaddon the Despoiler's rise to power. And of the civil war that wracked the eye of terror, once more turning space marine against space marine.


I've added this story some time ago, but I scrapped it. Depending on what everyone here thinks I might continue writing.

Prologue

Sanguinius was dying. The once mighty winged primarch's body spasmed and quaked, blood from the ruin that remained of his chest stained his the burnished chestplate, adorned with symbols of the Imperium. The primarch's superhuman anatomy only served to prolong his agony. He studied the face of his killer, the face of his brother, the face of the Traitor Horus. He saw Horus's lightning claw, still dripping with his own blood and viscera. Horus's face betrayed no emotion watching his dying brother, save perhaps for contempt. Sanguinius's vision blurred, he could begin to make out a hellish crimson halo about his brother's head. The dying primarch tried to speak, but the half-formed words gurgled feebly from his cracked lips like the blood from his mortal wound.

Horus spoke for him. "Forgive me brother, there was no other way." The warmaster turned from the corpse of his once close brother, his face contorted in silent rage at what he had done.

"Horus," spoke a voice, calm and placid, "what have you done?"

Horus did not look back at the speaker; he knew what he would see. The form of his emperor, and his father. The scowling man, wreathed in ethereal light, armour emblazoned in every space where there was room with imperial eagle. "I did what I had to do, 'father,'" hissed Horus, "his blood is on _your_ hands." The gathered traitor marines aboard the heretic vessel laughed or hissed encouragement. Horus raised his spare hand to silence them.

"_My _hands, Horus?" the Emperor's voice was laden with contempt.

"His death, like all the others was because of you. Every thrice-damned enemy I slew to gain every thrice-damned meter of _your_ thrice-damned empire I killed on your account. And now him," Horus pointed the still bloody lightning claw at his dead brother, "I killed him because I had no choice. He would have never fought me on his own accord, just like I would never have fought him. I have never taken a life for myself before. Now," he drew his mace, swinging it nonchalantly in a few arcs in the air, "I think I shall."

Horus flung himself at his father. The two titans clashed, the righteous might of the God-Emperor against the vile fusion of Primarch and Chaos that Horus had become. Horus began to feel his the wounds he suffered against his brother take their toll. He staggered out of the fray, an arm's length from his foe. It cost him his life.

Without betraying an iota of emotion the God-Emperor extended his hand.

Horus's skin boiled like a pot of water. The fallen primarch screamed as his flesh melted into the baroque terminator armour. He pitched forward at his foe's feet, his screams reduced to a series of unrecognisable gurgles. The Emperor shook his head in what appeared to be shame, "Is that, all there is? Horus, you make this far too easy, and to think _he_ lost to you." The emperor glanced at the prone body of Sanguinius, "is this what has become of my two finest sons?"

With one, final effort Horus pushed his body forward, the damaged machinery in his terminator armour groaned in protest. There was a sickening, grating sound as the Talon of Horus punched through the Emperor's chestplate. The two hung there for what might have been an eternity, father and son, both mortally wounded. With howl of rage the Emperor of Mankind threw the full force of his psychic power against the traitor primarch. White lightning surged through Horus's already shattered form. The warmaster's body convulsed violently, only deepening the gashes made by his lightning claw. Then, almost as soon as the storm began, it ended. Horus's smouldering corpse fell limp. His soul banished beyond any mortal reckoning.

The life of Horus, archfiend, warmaster, chosen of the ruinous powers ended with that terrible spell. Scores of eyes watched the duel aboard Horus's battle barge. Two such eyes belonged to a captain of The Luna Wolves, or the Sons of Horus, as they were then known.

The eyes of Ezekiel Abaddon. What transpired then in the captain's mind, none can say for sure. One thing is certain.

The tale of Horus was over.

The tale of Abaddon had only begun.

So there you have it, Horus's final battle. I'm not sure whether or not to continue with this little project, at least now (in the spirit of Warhammer) I can toss a D3 to decide which story to write in every day. So readers, if you think the story of Abaddon the despoiler has merit it shall be done.


End file.
